Massimo Volume
Da Qui

There are albums that stop time, that put you on standby. You remain motionless, letting the music and images flow in your mind. Waiting for just a sign, a return, but nothing arrives. Everything is silent, the world is silent. Music that tells a story, tells you, tells itself, blending, adorning itself with your pains. Music that gives voice to everything you keep silent even to yourself - let alone to others - in an underground and private catharsis. A journey in the mind. The yellow road lines of “Strade Perdute” are my mind, and the car riding them is “Da Qui”. The pilot is Massimo Volume and no, we won't dance to shitty music anymore.

And we won't dance, we won't sing. The spoken word, the stories narrated by Clementi leave no doubt: he is the director, the demagogue, the eye on the world; Egle Sommacal the set designer, the arm, the means. The whole, Massimo Volume and their records, as much theater as literature. An expression as private as it is collective.

They could have ended up trying to recreate “Lungo i Bordi”, a new album as intense and flowing as the first. Impossible to confront, better to exhaust one's own anxieties and let the music come out on its own. Release only the music that wants to come out, there you have “Da Qui”. Different in this very way from “Lungo i Bordi”: spontaneous; no idea before the realization, perhaps some after.

“Da Qui” is a nocturne, one of those albums that exponentially increases its value when listened to at the right moments. At night, the cold, sad, wounded: these are the stakes to place around “Da Qui”, the coordinates within which the words and the music are freed and become powerful and believe me: powerful they can truly become. Beware of pig heads.